Bad Nanny(23)

This time, when I put her back on that fuzzy toilet seat cover, she sits there for a good two minute before she makes another run for it.

This is gonna be a seriously long goddamn day.



When Brooke gets back to her sister's place later that night, her long brunette hair is tangled and her lips are pulled down into a permanent frown. The makeup she put on so carefully this morning is gone, replaced with black smudges around the eyes, purple circles underneath them, and a dab of red along the side of her chin that I think used to be her lipstick.

“Rough day at the office?” I joke when she lets herself in and pauses, blinking several times at me like she'd forgotten I was even here. It is awkward as hell in that living room, but I stand my ground, Sadie tucked up against my shoulder as I rub my hand in a circle on her upper back. I'm already starting to get the hang of this baby thing. Honestly, I think she's easier than the older ones. At least she doesn't walk, talk, or otherwise move around. No broken cell phones, no spitting, no kicking me in the shin. All this one does is eat, poop, and sleep. Those three things, I can handle.

“Thanks for staying so late,” she says, lifting her chin up in that proud way she's got. I wonder where she learned that from? “I meant to get back before dark, but I ended up stopping back by the strip club and talking to the owner.”

Deep breath from her as I raise an eyebrow.

“He says he'll give me another chance. I need to be back there tomorrow at nine sharp. Is there any way you could stay the night again?” She flicks some loose hair back over her shoulders and challenges me with a look that I can't interpret.

“Usually when a chick asks me to stay the night, she has other things in mind.” I smile when I say it, but Brooke doesn't smile back. I wonder what's been going through her head all day, about what happened between us. Maybe that's what's bothering her? “Look, about yesterday …”

“I'd rather not talk about yesterday,” she says, and I nod.

“Okay, then. Well, to be honest with you, your place is a hell of a lot better than where I've been staying. It's bigger, quieter.” There's no Bible-thumpers or pot dealers living next door. “If you don't mind, maybe I'll just go back and grab the rest of my stuff? Camp out here for the next week and a half?”

“The parents won't mind. I mean, the parents of …” She gestures at Sadie, and I realize that I haven't exactly explained the whole situation to her. “Your … charges?”

“My charges?” I laugh and the sound echoes in the nearly empty house. Whatever Brooke's sister was doing before she left, it certainly didn't have much to do with interior decorating. “No, the parents won't mind. They're in South Africa until the end of next week.”

Brooke raises an eyebrow at me. It's got the perfect shape, you know, like the curve of the Gateway Arch, this deep rounded design that makes me want to grab my kit from the car and pierce it. Brooke would look great with a few careful pieces of metal. I like to think of them as accent pieces for the human body, chrome detailing for an already a beautiful sports car. And Brooke, Brooke is a fucking killer sports car.

“What are they doing in South Africa?” she asks as she steps inside and kicks her shoes off by the door, setting her purse on the back of the couch. Before I get a chance to answer, Hubert's exploding from underneath it with a yowl, launching himself up the fabric and arching his back in Brooke's direction.

As soon as she sees him, she lets out a startled scream and I realize I've forgotten to introduce the two of them.

Oops.

“What the hell is this thing?” Brooke asks as Hubert yawns and stretches his ugly little peachy paws out, clawing the crap out of the back of the couch. When he's done, he arches his back again and tries to rub his wrinkly hairless body along Brooke. “Is this a … is this a cat?”

“Uh, yeah. He's mine … well, long story. An ex of mine left him at my place and we've kind of grown close.” I set Sadie down in her crib and move over to pat Hubert on the head. He hisses at me and tries to scratch me, but hey, we're cool.

“Why is he … wearing a sweater?” Brooke reaches out a tentative hand to stroke Hubert's head as I catch my breath and tell my cock to stop dreaming about her frantic, wild touch. She's so … inexperienced and amateur and … God. I want that hand wrapped around my shaft, gripping hard, palm sweating with nervousness as she tries to figure out my body. If Brooke Overland wants to learn what it's like to be with a man, I'd be more than happy to teach her.

No.

No, I would fucking not.

Didn't I just go over all the reasons this girl is bad news? Like, ouch. Clearly, if she's waited this long, she's looking for something “special”. I specialize more in the once in a lifetime variety of loving, if you know what I mean.